by Perrin Briar
“But then we couldn’t see anything,” Jordan said.
“Neither will the Lurchers.”
“How about a way to escape?” Anne said.
The door bent inwards again, an arm reached inside, flailing.
“Well, the front door’s out,” Stan said.
“There are some haystacks over there,” Jordan said. “We could try piling them up.”
“To the door up there?” Stan said. “That’s got to be fifteen feet. Even with the haystacks we’d struggle to reach it.”
“We could if we give each other a bunk up,” Anne said.
Stan nodded. “That might work. But we’ll have to be quick.”
They ran to the haystacks, dishevelled and bedraggled with disuse. A family of rats ran out. One ventured too close to the barn door and was snatched up in rotting fingers. They hastily piled the stacks up beneath the ledge.
“Anne, you go first,” Jordan said.
She shook her head. “If only one of us manages to get up there, it needs to be someone who can fight Frank and win.”
Jordan looked to Stan, who shook his head. “I might be in good shape for my age, but I’m not that good.”
The barn door, rotten with damp, snapped with a wet crack.
“We must hurry,” Stan said. He cupped his hands. Jordan put his foot in them like a stirrup. As Stan lifted, Jordan shifted his weight, rose, and stretched out an arm to grab onto the ledge. His fingers met air. Jordan fell back down, his drop cushioned by the hay.
“It’s no good,” Jordan said. “It’s too far. Anne should do it. She’s the lightest. I might be able to lift her up higher.”
“But you’re the only one who can fight-” Anne began, but was interrupted by the sharp crack of split wood as the Lurchers smashed through several slats. Half a dozen arms stretched in and tore at the inside.
“We don’t have time to argue. Anne, hurry up.”
Jordan cupped his hands. Anne put her dirty shoe into it and he lifted her up. He felt her weight partially leave his hands as her fingers found something hard jutting from the wall. It wasn’t the ledge, but it was close. Jordan shifted underneath her, her feet on his palms at chest height.
Stan took a pair of garden shears off the wall and beat at the Luchers each time they put their hands and arms through the gaps like a game of Whack-A-Mole.
Sweat dripped down Jordan’s face as Anne scrambled for something to grab onto.
“I can almost reach it,” Anne said. “Can you lift me up a little higher?”
“I’ll try.” He braced her weight and lifted her up as he extended his arms straight.
Anne found the ledge and pulled herself up.
Stan snipped with the shears, pruning fingers and toes. A Lurcher jutted his head through a hole. Stan snapped the shears together in rapid succession. The Lurcher’s nose hit the floor.
“Got your nose,” Stan said.
“Now you guys come up,” Anne said, lying flat on her stomach on the ledge, extending her arm. Jordan jumped, but his fingers were four feet short.
“I can’t. It’s too high,” he said.
“I’ll get something to pull you up.”
“They’re about to breach, Jordan,” Stan said, stepping back from the barn door.
“Anne, listen to me,” Jordan said. “You have to find a way to open the door. Go inside, find a weapon – a knife, a lump of wood, anything – and then you have to go rescue Jessie.”
“I can’t leave you here.”
“And you can’t leave Jessie where she is. Save her, then come back for us.” He offered a weak smile. “We’ll be all right.”
“All right,” Anne said. “But if when I come back you’re not here, I’ll kill you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Anne disappeared from view. Stan tossed Jordan a hoe. The door finally gave way, bursting inward. The Lurchers had breached.
135.
Anne scrambled at the edges of the door for a way to pry it open. Her nails scratched at the edges, but it was perfectly flush. Anne smacked the door with her palm.
Then she tried the doorknob. It opened.
“Ridiculous,” she said to herself.
The door creaked open. The house was silent save for the gentle humming of the computers. On a monitor she saw Stan and Jordan battling the Lurchers.
Anne crept forward, tripped on a cable and fell forward. She caught herself in a press-up position and eased herself silently onto the floor.
“Idiot!”
She picked up a stray screwdriver lying on an empty computer case and crossed the room. She poked her head into the corridor. Dust drifted in the light that spilled from the door at the end.
136.
The barn door lay splintered and broken on the floor, torn open like a particularly promising Christmas present. Decapitated Lurcher bodies dotted the space. Jordan and Stan, dirty and half-blinded by dust, collapsed against the back wall, exhausted.
A dozen Lurchers sporting welts fanned out in a semicircle. A Lurcher wearing an Ipswich City football shirt nursed a wound on his wrist. A warm grandmother-like figure with swollen joints had a cut above her left ear, a greenish pus seeping from it. A torso crawled toward them, his legs dragging behind him, eyes never leaving his prize.
“No sign of Queenie?” Jordan asked.
“Not so far as I can tell.” Stan rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Any chance your Lurcher friends might make another surprise appearance and save the day?”
“Nah. They only come when we’re in serious trouble.”
“Good, good.”
Jordan pulled the faceguard down, leaned over and pulled the string. The strimmer engine buzzed. He turned off the choke. “Time to trim the verge.”
The Lurchers limped forward. Jordan raised the strimmer to head height. Blood splattered the visor.
137.
There was the sound of a struggle behind the bedroom door, shapes momentarily blocking the light from the other side.
Anne’s knuckles turned white around the screwdriver. She reached for the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door.
Her eyes went wide at what she saw.
138.
Stan hit the ground hard, a Lurcher on top of him. Stan kicked and screamed and attempted to roll out of the way, but the Lurcher had hold of his leg. Jordan kicked the Lurcher hard across the head. There was a snap, and the head lolled at an unnatural angle. Jordan fell on it with his elbow.
“You all right?” Jordan asked, giving him a hand up.
“Wonderful.”
“Were you bitten?”
“No.”
Stan held a gardening fork in one hand. Jordan had found a dull grass sickle amongst the haystacks. They stepped carefully over the unmoving bodies under their feet. Jordan slipped on intestines, his feet getting caught in them. He slashed them open with the scythe, freeing his foot. A half-digested eye, finger, and Christ knows what else spilled over the floor.
The remaining Lurchers circled, eyes shining. Thick black blood splattered the wooden walls like a haunted house ride.
Stan’s body was heavy and slow, his muscles burning. “Well,” he said, out of breath, “it was nice knowing you.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Jordan said as he lashed out at a Lurcher that wandered within striking range, severing an arm. The Lurcher never even registered it.
“I never got to tell you what Mare told me at the end.”
“Will it help us out of this situation?”
Stan smiled. “It’d help you out of any situation.”
“Then I’d best hear it.”
Stan opened his mouth to speak when something heavy landed on his head. It was a rope.
“Climb!” a voice said.
Bang!
A Lurcher hit the ground. Another was sprayed with buckshot. The gun reloaded and fired again. Jordan and Stan toss
ed their weapons aside and climbed the rope. They found hidden reserves of energy and climbed one handhold at a time. They collapsed on the upstairs den floor, arms shaking with the effort. Jordan kicked the door shut.
“I never… ever want to see… another barn again,” Stan said between breaths.
A short, but confident figure stood over them. “We have to get going,” she said.
Stan and Jordan shook their heads, gasping for air. Then they paused, sharing a disbelieving look. They looked up at the figure. From their position on the floor she stood like a giant, the gun held with confidence in her hands, a warrior goddess straight out of a Greek epic. Her blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders, her small face cold and hard as if she’d seen hell and wasn’t all that impressed.
Stan gasped. “Jessie?”
139.
Jessie sat on the sofa, hands in her lap, staring into space the way she had for the past week. She blinked and looked about the room.
“When he took me upstairs,” Jessie began, “he kept touching me… down there. And whispering in my ear. Saying how much I was going to like it, how he was going to make me feel like a real woman. My hands started shaking.”
“It’s okay,” Anne said, laying her hand on Jessie’s. “You don’t have to tell us now.”
“I want to. He pushed me on the bed. He spread my legs open and started kissing my thighs. His hair tickled, and I couldn’t scratch. Inside, I cried. And I reached up and brushed away my tears. And then I realised I’d actually done it – not just thought about it, but actually reached up and brushed away my tears – and I was crying!
“I looked around and saw a knife with a serrated blade on the bedside table. He told me he was going to use it on me after… after he was finished. Without thinking, I grabbed it and smashed it on his head. He was shocked – and he screamed at me, saying I was a liar and pretender – me! I stood on my feet – amazed I was doing it – but the knife shook in my hand. He saw it and stepped toward me, telling me to hand it over, that he wouldn’t hurt me. He suddenly moved toward me. We struggled, and his hands went around my throat.”
Jessie’s hands found her own neck. She flinched when she touched it.
“He pressed harder and harder, and I couldn’t breathe. I hit him, but it didn’t make any difference. I still had the knife in my hand and I raised it up to his stomach. His eyes bulged, and he looked down. I pulled the knife out, and put it back in again. I hardly had to push. I kept doing it until his eyes rolled back and he stopped looking at me. His grip grew weak and he just fell on top of me. I crawled out from under him and stood staring at him. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. But I still held the knife in my hand, in case he woke up. That’s when Anne came in. I dropped the knife and ran to her. I cried and cried and cried.” Jessie’s eyes shimmered, and she turned into Anne’s embracing arms.
“Why did she wake up then?” Jordan asked Anne.
“A traumatic event caused her to become shut in,” Anne said. “It’s only logical that another traumatic event should cause her to wake up.”
“But we’ve had plenty of traumatic events up to now,” Stan said. “Why this one? Why now?”
“She gradually woke up during those events. After the car crash, Stan noticed she could smile. The barrier must have started breaking from then. Frank was the final straw.”
Jessie straightened up from Anne’s shirt, where she’d left two large wet patches. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“In the other situations,” Jessie said, sniffling, “I was going to be dead, and dead is fine. But with him, with what he wanted to do with me… That would have been worse than death. Something inside me snapped, and I woke up.
“You can’t imagine what it’s like. To be trapped like that. To hear everything and see everything, but be unable to speak. To not have a voice. It was the worst feeling in the world. Do you think that’s what it’s like to be a Lurcher?”
No one spoke.
“I’m glad you’re okay, kiddo,” Stan said, hugging her close. He reached into his pocket and came out with the bracelet.
Jessie took it and fingers the jingly bells. “I’m glad to be back.”
“The sun will be up soon,” Jordan said. “Let’s get out of this hell hole.”
140.
Jordan looked out over the calm west-facing scene before him. The sun was just beginning to rise behind the forest, sending long fingers of light over the lawn, a lawn that for all the world appeared to be prime farmyard grazing land if it wasn’t for the severed animal parts scattered like confetti.
“Frank said he put mines to the north and east of the property,” Jordan said, “and traps to the west and north. He said he deactivated them to let the Lurchers in.”
“But we’d best not take his word for it,” Stan said.
Jordan snapped a branch off an apple tree and pruned it of its foliage. He walked to the very edge of the patio, shoe tips nudging the grass of the field they’d entered the day before.
“Jordan, be careful,” Anne said.
Jordan tapped the ground before him like a blind man with a cane. The stick met resistance. There was something hard and flat buried beneath the surface. He brushed the dirt away, revealing a trap. Jagged rusty teeth poked above the surface like budding metal shoots. He stabbed the sensor plate hard. Nothing happened. He hit the plate a few more times, all with the same result.
“How does it look?” Stan asked.
“Appears to be off.” Jordan tossed the stick aside.
“That means the mines will be off too, doesn’t it?”
They walked around to the east side of the farmhouse. They ducked under the white picket fence. A bumpy field met them. The rain had dislodged the dirt clinging to some mines, partially unearthing them, making the unblinking red lights visible.
“Stand back,” Jordan said. He picked up a handful of gravel and tossed it out over the minefield. The stones tinged off the metal casings.
“All clear,” he said. Jordan stepped out onto the muddy minefield. “Let’s go.”
“Jordan, wait,” Anne said. “Are you sure we should be walking this way?”
“Frank put traps all around his property. I don’t know about you, but I’d sooner get away from this place as quickly as possible.”
The molehill-like bumps stretched off, lost in the distance. Stan and Jessie led the way, Jordan and Anne coming up the rear.
They walked in silence.
“I had the dream again last night,” Jordan said.
“Oh?” Anne said, failing to sound nonchalant. “Anything new?”
“I went into the house.”
“But you said it was on fire.”
“I was wrong. It wasn’t fire. When the fire touched the objects in the house they didn’t burn.”
“What was it then?”
“Fear, I think. The house was burning with fear.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly. But every step I took toward the house filled me with excruciating pain. And the woman and young girl – they weren’t Mary and Stacey. The girl was seven or eight with blond hair. The woman looked like a grown-up version of the girl.”
“Who do you think they are?”
“I don’t know.”
Anne nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I’m sure it will come to you.”
It began to rain, the droplets making soft patting noises on the parched earth. Jessie raised her face up to it, spread her arms out wide, and swirled them round in circles. Enjoying the movement, enjoying being alive.
Jordan felt warm fingers interlock with his own. Anne smiled at him, and drank in the scene of Jessie running, spinning and turning, heedless of the minefield around her.
Then the bleeping started.
It began low, but grew in pitch as well as rhythm, beating faster and faster until it made a single high-pitched tone. The small green lights flashed, peeking out from the undergrowth like the eyes of a demon.
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“Oh my God…” Anne said. “The mines! It’s the mines! They’re turning back on!”
Jessie, unnerved by the tone, stopped dancing. She stepped toward the others.
“Jessie! Freeze!” Jordan shouted. “Don’t move! Stay there!”
“Why?” she said, voice thick with fear. “What’s that noise?”
“I said don’t move!”
The noise stopped, the lights turned off. A chill breeze blew across the field emphasizing the thick silence. Stray leaves drifted, skittering across the landscape, too light to set anything off.
“The noise stopped,” Anne whispered. “Maybe it’s safe…”
“Don’t you believe it,” Jordan said. “Don’t move, Jess.”
He got down on his stomach and crawled over to one of the bumps. He took out a knife he’d commandeered from Frank’s kitchen and slowly removed the top of the molehill layer by layer.
“Anne?” Jessie called, voice quivering. “I’m scared.”
“We all are. Just wait right there, Jess darling.”
The knife clinked against something solid. Jordan dusted away the dirt. There was a green light on a flat metal plate. Jordan cursed.
“I thought they were all deactivated,” Anne said.
“They were.”
“How could this happen?”
Jordan wiped the rain from his brow, leaving a dirty smudge. “They must have been on some kind of timer. Frank wasn’t the kind of person to just leave his defences down.”
“What if we set them off on purpose?” Stan said. “None of the mines are that close to us.”
“We can’t take that risk.” Jordan turned to Jessie. “Jess, can you see your footprints?”
Jessie cast around. “Yes.”
“Good. Now listen to me carefully. I want you to follow your footprints back to us, okay? Don’t step anywhere but your footprints.”
“Okay.” Jessie twisted to take the first step.
